


The Great Kink Fic

by Ladycat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Bondage, Conditioning, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a series of prompts after Entrenous88 held a poll on what I should write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Kink Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes! This is a cleverly named story wherein I polled people on LJ for prompts and wove it into a story. If you've ever read me before, you can probably figure out where this is going. Fast.

In those first agonizing days after the chip, time slowed to nothing. Each moment crawled along, a gimpy inch-worm on slick silicone. Every second was devoted to his rage at being collared and cut, thinking and planning on ways to remove it. Ways to utterly humiliate the ones who’d done this to him, drenching them in blood and gore, viscera strung around them like jewels. To properly repay those who thought meddling in the dark arts—with their blinding white lab coats and utter reliance on _logic_ and _truth_ , like that mattered a bit—was just one more frontier just waiting to be conquered. Wankers.

Spike kicked at a loose bit of gravel, snorting to himself. _So I sulked for a bit. A perfectly natural response, since I’m stuck living on animal blood and only_ just _moved out of sodding Harris’ basement._ Spike very carefully didn’t think about why he’d been forced to move out, which had much less to do with his growing acceptance of what he now was, and a lot more to do with Xander moving into a new apartment and refusing to invite Spike in. Not even Buffy acting her cutest or most seductive had worked, which was a new on one Spike. And Buffy for that matter, face scrunched up in disbelief when Harris’ closed the door in her face. _Harris finally growing a pair of ’em? Nah. Probably just left over crap from tossing Anyanka._

And hadn’t that been a sight? The two of them screaming enough to resemble the mister and missus above, hurling out insults dripping with enough acid to melt right through steel. Hell, Anya had at one point hissed and arched like a scalded cat, going so far as to try and scratch at Xander’s face! Good times, that. Good times. It was too bad no one knew _why_ they’d gone hammer and tongs like that, but the upshot was Anya was gone, sulking in her own apartment and refusing to speak to anyone but Willow—who was dubious at best at the honor—and Xander was out. Out of his basement, out of his old job, out of nearly half the Scooby meetings since his unknown _new_ job was apparently a bit stricter on actually showing up during shift.

Unfortunately, it was right around then that time had resumed its normal fluidity and Spike had come flat up against the bane of his existence: boredom. Being an eternal creature of the night was all very well when there were maidens to ravish—or men, he’d always been an equal-opportunity ravisher—or other nefarious plots to work on. Hell, if nothing else there’d been _Dru_ , who was beautiful and wicked and crazier than a loon, providing hours of entertainment. But now he had none of that: no Dru to tease into a screaming frenzy, no victims to taunt, no wickedness lurking around the edges.

He had a telly, of course. _No cable, though, and no sodding porn, either_. If worst came to worst, there were always the possibility of nicking some books from Rupert, but— _It’ll be pretty damned dire straits before I’d do_ that _again,_ he promised himself. A car honked as he meandered across the street and Spike casually flipped it off. _Should I have it hit me? Always good for a laugh, when they freak out, expecting you dead, and you pop up all fangy and hungry and—oh. Right. Fucking chip._

Snarling quietly to himself, Spike angled towards his ultimate goal. He’d hitched a ride as much as possible, forced to walk the last few miles to see a large warehouse, the kind that were usually found near docks or ports, able to hold a huge amount of goods as they waited for their next leg of transport—the overgrown railroad tracks and rotted wooden hutch about thirty yards away from the building confirming his initial guess of what it had been.

_But what it is now, though. That’s a mite different._

There wasn’t any tacky neon sign. In fact, there wasn’t much evidence that the building was even inhabited, despite the plethora of cars on the smooth blacktop in front of it—newer than the decade old ruins near by, yeah, but not new enough to raise suspicion. Spike examined the merchandise before actually going in; if it was a bust, he could always come back out and nick that slick little Mercedes tucked away in the north western shadow, the one that didn’t smell of demon or of the ozone tang of a security system.

Well, if tonight was a bust, anyway. _Better not be. Cost me as much dosh as I’d managed to steal to get this and damned if I’m going away empty handed._

The door opened smoothly when he knocked, allowing him to step into sandal-scented darkness. His eyes adjusted quickly to take in the Ventura-sized human politely waiting for him; big enough to be a problem, and Spike could smell the drugs and magic that’d make him more than a match for most demons. That was reassuring, actually—too many clubs like this advertised without any real follow-through; a bouncer like this meant quality goods.

“Sir,” the bouncer said, bowing slightly from the waist.

Spike reached out, allowing his fingers to trail down the oiled, smooth stomach. “Aren’t you a pretty. Do more than just bouncing, then?” There were times when Spike appreciated a bit of serious rough.

The bouncer took the silvery ticket Spike produced, examining it minutely under a green-lit lamp, utterly ignoring how Spike fondled him. “This way, please, Master,” he said after a moment. “And there will be others to your liking inside, if I am your preferred type. Please enjoy, Master.”

Smirking, Spike didn’t allow his relief to show. _Wondered if that slimey bastard had done me wrong, selling off a ‘slave’ ticket instead._ Not that Spike objected to big, rough hands forcing him down, toying with his body without an regard to Spike’s own preferences—he shivered—but he didn’t want that right now. Right now, he wanted someone on his knees before him, big eyes adoring as she—or he—waited for instruction.

Right now he wanted to feel sodding Big and Bad again.

Walking down a narrow corridor, the floor under his feet began to rumble as he worked through the sound-proofing. _A spell_ , he decided, the scent of clean, cold metal mixing with bloody lavender confirming it. He stopped before a small window cut into the wall, amused as a delicately little girl, all over in blue, peered up at him. “Coat, Master?” she chirped. “Locker for changing?”

There was more, obviously, a whole litany planned, but Spike waved her away. “Rules?”

 _Last time I was in a place like this I didn’t give a rat’s broken_ body _for the rules! I came in, took what I wanted, did who I wanted, and no one could stop me._ Spike forced himself not to growl as the little blue girl smiled brightly and handed over a pamphlet. It was standard enough—those on offer would be clearly marked, and limits could be decided upon in the rooms; injuries cost extra, and death’s a sodding fortune, with some fairly serious penalties attached if not discussed with the owner first—all pretty standard for a club like this. Spike glanced at as much as he felt necessary then threw the glossy paper to the ground.

The little blue demon immediately appeared to collect it, smiling winsomely at Spike.

 _Maybe a blonde?_ he thought, fingering her almost aquamarine-colored hair while she half closed her eyes and purred against him. _Yeah, a little bitty thing, blonde and spunky, bending to my will, taking me in that cherry-red mouth of hers while she moans and comes just for the taste of me..._

Releasing the girl with a blown kiss, Spike turned towards the main club. There’d be plenty to choose from, male and female, human and not, within. _Maybe more than one. A little red-head to go with the blonde, yeah? A dominatrix and her pet, both for me to toy with—let the red-head finger the little bitch of a blonde as she sucks me, smack her arse and tell what a whore she is, slut for that cock in her mouth, the hand up her. Or, oh, better, me fucking the red-head while the blonde sucks on her pretty tits, waiting her turn—_

“Master?”

Spike blinked out of his fantasies to see a bouncer almost identical to the one in the front of the club. “What, they own twins?”

The bouncer didn’t blink. “Quadruplets, Master. Would Master prefer a place by the stage, a table, or perhaps a seat at the bar?”

Rolling his shoulders underneath the duster, Spike took a deep breath and let himself go a little. This was what he’d been waiting for, what he’d been craving since the moment he realized he’d been snipped like a naughty fucking puppy—and damn if it wasn’t a good feeling. “Bar.”

“Yes, Master. This way.”

Bouncer #2 of 4 opened a hidden door, allowing sounds and smells to slam into the narrow anteroom: music, low and throbbing, dripping with seduction without being anything particularly recognizable or distracting; the smells of sex and blood, lust and desire so strong Spike almost hardened right then. Controlling himself, Spike followed the bouncer into the club, sliding onto the stool that was pulled out for him. The bouncer waited until he was sure Spike was settled and that the bartender knew a new guest had arrived, then bowed—holding still while Spike teased an already-hardened nipple for a moment—and then vanished back to the anteroom.

_Oh, yeah. My kind of place._

The room was huge, containing several stages, at least three different bars, everything from banquet-style tables to plush, hidden nooks, and probably a lot more Spike wasn’t seeing. It wasn’t too crowded, air circulating past sweat and sex to ensure each Master’s comfort, but that was probably a measure of how big the cavernous room was, and not how few Masters filled it. Dancers writhed on stage, in several cages dotted on the ceiling, while all around him couples—or groups—went through their own rituals of want and sex.

Spike sipped blood-and-borboun with a beer chaser, studying the crowd. Slaves wandered in and around the Masters, marked by their various levels of nakedness and a small silver dot on their foreheads—or whatever approximated a forehead, on some of the demons. All Slaves were controlled by the club owners, although only about half were actually employed by the club—plenty of humans and demons wanted to place themselves in someone else’s control for a bit, and clubs like this ruthlessly controlled their Slaves’ safety. _Means the submissive bastards will come back, of course, and want it again. Want it harder and rougher than before. Lovely. I do love a good addiction._

Employees also wove through the throng, carefully ensuring that no Master wanted for anything and no Slave was driven past whatever he, she, or it was comfortable with. They wore as much—or little—as the Slaves, but instead of a silver disc, their’s were an eye-catching yellow, unmistakable or ignorable, marking them as off limits unless they, themselves, wished to join in.

Several different Slaves approached over the next hour, and Spike enjoyed himself thoroughly—both flirting and eventually pushing an entirely willing little blond—a boy, but just as petite and spunky as Spike wanted—between his legs where the boy eagerly began sucking. “That’s right,” Spike murmured, stroking the bobbing head. “That’s what you wanted since the moment you first saw me, wasn’t it?”

The boy—well, possibly not a _boy_ as he tightened his lips around the base of Spike’s cock, remaining there for several moments just holding Spike’s cock in his mouth and down his throat—moaned his agreement, hands busily stroking Spike’s hips and balls.

“Good cocksucker,” Spike praised. But as delightful as the blow job was— _never,_ ever _going this sodding long without again!_ —Spike couldn’t help but let his eyes wander. This was nice, yeah, but what he wanted was a scene, a pretty couple of pets to torment and toy with. _No, what I want is to_ eat _them, the way I should, and the way I sodding can’t. Oh, well. Spine-meltingly good sex will have to do for a substitute. This one’s nice,_ Spike again caressed the boy’s head, _but I think I want something a little more ..._

The _hell_?

This particular bartender had caught his eye almost immediately, yellow disc almost lurid against the more golden tone of his skin, dark hair hanging in a gentle wave to highlight the leather, studded collar wrapped around his throat, which then emphasized just how powerfully built the young man was. He wasn’t huge, really, not like the muscle-bound bouncers, but with nicely defined, long muscles that a gym could never produce. This was a man used to hard work, comfortable within his own skin, and the fading hint of a few bruises indicated that fighting was probably a favored pastime as well.

Absently thrusting into the moaning, eager boy still sucking his cock, Spike watched as this particular bartender stepped out from behind the chest-high partition. He was naked from the waist up, legs covered in true chaps, the kind cowboys from a few decades before might’ve worn, and not the assless-wonders modern day twinks wore. Leather framed those long, muscled legs, tapering towards the outside around mid-thigh, held together with a belt so that both ass and the silver-mesh pouch encasing the bartenders cock were on full display.

Barefoot, the bartender headed towards a particular patron and settled onto his knees, head down while the patron spent the next five minutes petting and caressing him like a dog, occasionally rubbing his foot against the bartender’s bound cock or tweaking pert nipples. It was beautiful. _He’s fucking beautiful, and of course he’s an employee. But maybe ..._

By focusing as hard as he could, Spike caught the tail end of the conversation—a business deal of some kind—and the patron saying, “Good boy. Ready to go make me another drink, now?”

“Yes, Daddy,” the bartender answered, gracefully rising to go back to his actual job, and Spike surged so deeply into his cocksucker’s mouth that the boy began to choke and struggle.

Spike knew that voice. Hell, he knew that _body_ , although he’d never seen it move with such fluid confidence before. He knew that shadowed, beautiful face, lips swollen from prior kisses, eyes flashing as another patron patted him on the ass with another “good boy”, accepting a drink made just moments before.

Xander. Fucking Xander Harris, a bartender in _this_ kind of club, wearing _those_ kinds of clothes, acting as if he _wanted_ to be where Spike’s cocksucker was right at that very moment.

Spike came so hard he saw stars.

* * * *

One ticket to this particular club wasn’t good for just one night, but a series of them. Memberships were graded, the more time you wanted the more it cost, so any moment Spike wasn’t in club, he was off stealing money so he could buy more time for it. Once he had a good six months paid for, Spike bribed the little blonde boy who would eagerly suck Spike’s cock whenever Spike wanted to—and more, but Spike preferred a dark-skinned demon for fucking—to get him Xander’s schedule. Spike made certain to appear whenever Xander was working.

Then he watched. _There’s got to be a way to use this. Well, other than the obvious, of course. There’s got to be an angle._ He watched Xander when he was at work, seeing this totally different person flirt and be flirted with, easily submitting to almost any dominant advance. Then he’d watch Xander with his friends, the same bumbling, idiotic boy as he’d always been. Oh, he was a bit quieter now. A bit more withdrawn, often striking out on his own when they patrolled. But he was still _Xander_ , the same moron Spike had had to smash a microscope into to get him to stop yapping.

Well. Mostly.

Days bled into weeks and Spike began to notice a pattern. He’d thought at first that the Xander hanging out with his friends was the real Xander, the one closer to the truth, but it wasn’t. Scooby-Xander was the skin he wore, a mask of who he’d been when he was too young to know the difference, and now too entrenched in to change. It became obvious once Spike saw how Xander was very .... _attentive_ some times. _Particularly if Rupert’s distracted and instead of politely asking for something, demands that Xander just go do it. And isn’t Xander just pretty when his eyes go empty like that, body obedient? Good thing the Slayer doesn’t have a vamp’s sense of smell, or she’d know exactly what Xander was thinking right then._ Combine that with the way Xander occasionally started staring into space, pants growing tighter and making Spike _ravenous_ as he inhaled the boy’s scent, or the bodies Xander’s eyes would follow, plus all the other interesting tidbits Spike was picking up from watching Xander at work ...

No one ever claimed Spike was stupid.

 _Yeah, they did. And impatient and foolish and a whole book of things Darla used to quote at me. Doesn’t mean she was_ right _, though._

Spike had been very careful to make certain Xander didn’t know he was being watched—at the club, anyway. During Scooby meetings that was an entirely different story. Spike stared. At first it was covert, casual glances as he gathered up all the bits and pieces he needed. Over time, though, it became a blatant caress of eyes over Xander’s body, cataloging all the bruises the boy received that Spike knew would be visible—and oh, so touchable—to anyone who wanted at the club the next night. He smirked and sneered at the boy, taunting him silently, daring him to do anything at all about it.

At first, Xander ignored him, the way most of the Scoobies did. A few days of that, though, were followed by a full week of jittering that culminated in Xander finally appealing—face bright red, head down, so deliciously embarrassed—to Giles to find some relief. “He won’t _stop_ ,” Xander confessed, exasperation not quite thick enough to mask the misery.

Spike held his breath as he waited for Rupert’s reply: “Oh, honestly, Xander, just ignore him. He’s perfectly harmless, and he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

 

_Bingo._

If Rupert’d had a single inkling of what Xander did for his job, or where Xander now spent most of his down time, he’d never have brushed that question off. For all the fuddy-duddy habits, Spike knew better than most what Rupert’s past exploits comprised of, particularly once the old bastard had gotten drunk one night and spilled his fractured heart out. If Rupert had known, he’d have guessed what exactly Xander was really asking—

 _But he doesn’t know, does he? Little Xander wants to keep that secret from his mates. Not just where he works, oh no, but what he likes to_ do _there._ Spike was practically drooling when Xander came back, head still down and radiating sullen resignation.

Out of courtesy, since Spike knew what it was like to say goodbye to parts of yourself, Spike gave him two days grace.

Then the game was on.

* * * *

New Xander or Old, he wasn’t exactly a subtle creature. Spike appreciated that. He’d never really seen the point of subtlety when you could just go out and take whatever the hell you wanted, and the chip’s restrictions only made him value it more highly. Xander left little bits of himself bread-crumbed behind him, and Spike found each one, tucking them away for safe keeping.

He continued keeping his distance at the club, smirking as Xander tried to keep a better eye on his surroundings; _took him long enough to figure I might be here_. It never worked, though, since the moment a hand ghosted over his naked stomach, or a voice demanded the ‘boy’ go get a drink for his Daddy, Xander would slide back underneath his skin, sinking into the blissful pleasure Spike wanted so very badly.

It was at the meetings, and on patrol, that he made his move. He began touching Xander—casual, at first, helping him up after a fall, shoving him away, or barreling into him. Then he’d sit next to Xander on the sofa, pleased when after the second time Xander didn’t do more then just sigh and let Spike lean against him.

_“Is there a reason you’re acting more of an asshole than usual?” he’d demanded._

_Spike had smirked bac at him. “Naughty language, pet. Don’t speak to me that way again.”_

And he hadn’t. The others had even remarked on it, how Xander seemed so much less antagonistic towards Spike, occasionally even swallowing words he dearly wanted to say. Spike never said anything when they demanded to know what he’d done to Xander, just smiled as he remembered the black in Xander’s eyes and the flush of sex that’d risen to his cheeks at Spike’s command.

Xander always fought him the first time—it was more of a token effort, but he still _always_ objected at least once to each new thing Spike added. He frowned and muttered about mosquitos when Spike casually ran a thumb down Xander’s neck, the action hidden from chattering girls half a room away; the second time he’d almost moaned when Spike touched the area slightly reddened from regular collar wear. He _squeaked_ the first time Spike found the always-exposed strip of belly and began tracing patterns on smooth, warm skin; afterwards, he made certain the strip was wide enough for Spike’s fingers, and his eyes always fluttered at each soft brush. Oddly, there was _no_ objection when Spike started demanding Xander do things for him, just instant obedience—and enough snark that no one but Spike knew how very ‘instant’ it was.

The first time Spike managed to touch Xander’s cock, though, safely hidden underneath a table, the boy leaped to his feet and stormed out of the apartment.

“What’s his deal?” Buffy asked, blinking at the resounding slam of the front door.

“I don’t know. He’s been kinda ... weird for a while, you know?” Willow responded. She scrunched her nose. “Like, he’s always really jumpy and nervous before a meeting, but once he gets here, it’s like he falls asleep, or he’s some big, dazed cat lying in the sun. He’s so quiet, lately. Xander’s not supposed to be quiet!”

The human babble washed over him. If they were noticing what was happening, well. He only had so long to make his move, or he’d lose the window entirely. _Too soon? Not that I’m interested in waiting a lot longer... screw it._ Deciding, Spike rose to his feet, coat flaring around his calves. “Well, then, it’s been loads of fun. Ta, really, Rupert, that tea was lovely.”

The tea had been an unmitigated disaster, helped along by Spike, of course, and Rupert glared hatefully back at him. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Well, don’t want anything to eat your lone male chum, do I? He is a nummy treat, after all.” He leered, masking his truth with an incident not a week before, where some demon had fancied herself madly in love with Xander. The _Scoobies_ thought that it was yet more evidence of Xander’s unfortunate demonic attractiveness.

Spike knew the demon was a Mistress from the club and had been ecstatic to see her favorite bartender outside club walls, where he was fair game. She’d been grabby, Xander had been terrified—for his job, mostly, since there were rules outside the club, too, and Xander clearly _liked_ his job. There’d been one panicked glance towards Spike—

Her death had been satisfyingly slow.

“Well, I hardly think—”

“Xander is _not_ a demon magnet, that spell is _gone_ , honest, Buffy, I—”

Flipping off the wincing, complaining Scoobies, Spike made his escape into the clean night air. That was one advantage of being in Sunnydale, where no industry had ever really last very long. Pollution was limited, the stars not quite as brilliant as in Spike’s youth, but certainly brighter than most places in America. Casseopia, one of Dru’s favorites, winked down at him in blessing. _See? Even Dru’s stars want me to have this. Good enough omen for me._

He inhaled, tracking Xander’s frustrated, jerky movements to the boy’s apartment. He moved swiftly, enjoying the way the air brushed against him, cool and refreshing, energizing as he plotted his movements. Xander was ready, but he still had to be carefully led to the trap—the Slayer was a potent weapon, even if Xander was unsure how to use her to his benefit, at the moment.

Xander had just unlocked the door when Spike appeared next to him, leaning against his shoulder, arm slipping over his belly to cup between Xander’s legs. “Naughty,” he purred in Xander’s ear, enjoying the frantic beat of Xander’s heart, the rush of his blood under his skin, pounding with adrenaline—and not one single jerk out of Spike’s touch. “Running away from me like that. That’s a very bad thing for you to do, isn’t it, boy?”

So tense that it had to hurt, Xander creaked out, “What do you want?” 

Desire ran thick and strong through the fear, almost overwhelming Spike, but he managed to roll his palm in a firm circle over Xander’s half-hard cock. “Didn’t give you permission to speak, pet. Quiet.”

And just like that, Xander went quiet. Even the harsh rasp of his breathing muted into something smoother, calmer.

“Good boy. Now, then, here’s how this is going to work. You see, pet, there are things I want. This chip out. A bevy of beauties offering me their blood and their bodies for my pleasure. Nice, posh digs and money to blow. An’ yeah, this sodding chip out of my skull. But since I can’t have of that, well, it seems I’ve got to make do.” Spike tightened his fingers of the hand over Xander’s cock—hardening quickly—while the other found the nape of Xander’s neck and began to stroke the way almost every single patron ended up doing, at the club. _There you go, pet, purring like the eager little boy you are. That’s right, relax against me a bit_. “And,” he continued, voice pitched low and soothing, “it’s _you_ I’m making do with, little boy. Vampires have needs and you’ve just volunteered yourself to attend to them.”

“Wh-what? What are you? No _way_ , Spike.” Face scrunched up like this was the most painful thing ever, Xander wrenched himself free of Spike and stumbled toward his apartment. He’d be safe inside, of course, where he’d no doubt call Buffy and tell her of Spike’s newest psychotic twist.

“ _Gateway_.”

Halfway through the doorway—which meant only halfway through the barrier—Xander froze. “Gate what?”

“Gateway. You know it.” Leaning forward, Spike cupped the back of Xander’s neck, rubbing his thumb over the faint red mark the collar had made nearly permanent. “S’where you _work_ , boy.”

Xander went white, shivering hard enough that only Spike’s hold kept him upright. “You—you’ve been there?”

He looked absurdly young like this, no longer the confident boy just waiting for his Daddy’s attentions, not even the fumbling brat the Scoobies knew—this was Xander at his most frightened, eyes wide and black, body trembling as the scent of fear overpowered any hint of lust. It wasn’t just fear of his friends’ discovery, either—that was bad and more than enough to do what Spike needed, but in this case, just a pittance in comparison.

If _Gateway_ found out that Xander was friends with the Slayer, though, that was something much different. Employees had all kinds of rules governing their behavior, and maintaining a low profile was something they signed in magic-tainted ink. The Slayer was anything but low profile, and if Spike spun the story to her correctly, well, she’d go in there guns blazing, determined to ‘rescue’ her friend from what she saw as deprivation and disgusting perversions.

 _Like the girl who shagged Angelus has any right to talk about perversions_.

The beauty of this little set up was that Xander really had no where to run. The club didn’t know about his associations—Spike had checked on that—and the moment they did, Xander’s employment would be terminated and he’d be magicked into silence. His friends didn’t know anything about his job, despite repeatedly asking, and the moment they did, they’d assume they knew best for Xander and do things for him. _That is, if they aren’t horrified that staid old Xander is now a raging queer who wants a Daddy to fuck him and tell him exactly what to do._

He had no choice at all but to give in to Spike’s demands, and they both knew it.

“I’ve been there,” Spike confirmed. “Now, gonna let me tell this story in the hallway where anyone can here?”

Xander shook his head.

“Thought not. Invite me in.”

“C-come in, Spike.” The words were stuttered and uneven, but they appeared promptly after the demand.

Rubbing Xander’s neck again, Spike kissed his pulse point. “There’s a good boy. In with you, now.” Shoving Xander not-so-gently inside, Spike followed and looked around. The apartment was nice in ways the basement never was. _Gateway_ paid well, not including the substantial tips for a pretty submissive toy like Xander, and it showed in the decor. It was a two bedroom apartment, nicely spaced out, done up in beige and tan. The muted walls allowed a riot of colors to be used in the rich red sofa, the table decorated in blues and greens, the bed done up in pure black.

“Nice,” Spike commented when he saw that, Xander trailing him anxiously. “You pick these out yourself? S’almost pretty in here.”

“One of the—” Xander swallowed, flushing bright right. “One of my coworkers. Tey. He helped me pick most of this stuff.”

“He’s got good taste. Thank him for me, will you? This place is almost worthy to be mine.”

Xander responded with a snort. “You mean after all that five-star goodness of a _warehouse_? Let’s not forget my old basement, where mildew was king and you were lord of the barcelounger.”

 _I’d like to, ta._ “Now, now, pet. What’d I tell you about mouthing off to me?” Spike turned around, pulling Xander’s unresisting body against him while dark eyes glared hate not _quite_ pure enough to cover up the lust and need underneath. _Pretty boy, I’m gonna make you scream for me._ “I like my pets snappy, ready to snarl and bite—but that’s anyone _I_ command. Good boys don’t go after their own Master’s.”

It couldn’t have been a surprise, not the way Xander was accepting each rolling thrust of Spike’s hips, but still his eyes widened. “I’m not one of the whores,” Xander said bluntly. “I work the floor, not the back rooms.”

“Like I care about that? You’ve wanted a Master since the moment you set foot in there, boy. Wanted someone to push you down,” Spike pressed, and Xander settled easily on his knees, “to remind you that you’re nothing but a little one, too dumb to know what’s best, and that’s all right, isn’t it? Cause Daddy’s here, now.” Gripping Xander’s hair, Spike maneuvered the boy until his mouth breathed hot, wet breath over Spike’s cock, eyes still able to look up at Spike’s. “Daddy’s going to take good care of a little treasure like you, pet. Gonna let you make him feel good.”

Arousal lay thick and heavy in the air, an incense Spike knew he’d never grow tired of. Xander was shivering lightly, eyes dilated to amber rims, and unblinking as they held Spike’s. “If I tell my boss—”

 _Good lad, there’s the balls I knew you had._ Running his nails up and down Xander’s scalp without releasing him, Spike said, “Ah ah, pet. You tell your boss and they’re going to be in for a nice little surprise. ’M not sure if I want to send the Slayer in to ‘save’ you, or just provide appropriately damaging pictures, but either way...”

Spike knew his grin was feral and cruel—knew it because Xander shivered and leaned more heavily against Spike’s hip in response. “So this is blackmail,” he whispered, tongue flickering to brush wet heat Spike could feel even through the denim. “You’re blackmailing me.”

“Aw, don’t think of it like that, pet. Think of it as... doing your bit to keep your job secure. Besides—don’t think you’ll object _too_ much, will you?” _Not with you so hard you’re ready to come just from having your face pressed up against my cock, pet. Try that lie on someone who can’t smell it, can’t hear the rush of your blood._ “Only reason you aren’t working the back rooms, pet, is you’re too scared. But that’s all right. Daddy’s here to show you the ropes, teach you everything you need to be a good little whore.”

Xander’s eyes fluttered when his cheek was caressed, instinctively sucking on Spike’s jeans while Spike spoke to him. He was lost in the sensation of getting exactly what he’d always wanted, which was just about right. The moment he started thinking was the moment Spike would have to talk damned fast, or even produce some of the photos he’d taken, just in case.

Blackmail didn’t work without evidence, after all.

But that’d be moving the game along a bit too early, and Spike had hopes that he wouldn’t need more then just the threat in potentia for this to work—Xander was certainly eager enough, clearly craving exactly what Spike was giving him. “That’s right, suck, pet,” Spike told him, tracing around the curve of Xander’s ear. “This is just right, innit? It was safe back at the club, you could always point to that hideous bit of yellow on your head, go back to mixing drinks and breaking hearts with that pretty body of yours. Never cross a line you didn’t want crossed. Except, pet, you _do_ want to cross, don’t you? You know that little twink of a blonde, forget his name—Ray?”

Xander moaned softly, settling more fully on his knees—he had a lot of practice doing that, Spike knew, even if it was only to show submission and allow himself to be touched—before shaking his head. “Kevin. His name is Kevin.”

“Spoke to him, have you?”

Xander nodded, making sure to drag nose and chin near the seam of Spike’s jeans. “Yeah. He told me about this one guy ... vamp ... tastes so ... ”

Spike had always privately suspected a little bit of judicious magicking and drugging of employees, born out here by the sudden hike of pheremones and the faint scent of jasmine, a favored ingredient for lust potions. Xander was rocking below him, rubbing against nothing at all while he buried his face between Spike’s legs, almost mindless with need. Caressing him, hushing under his breath, Spike waited until Xander was calmer before saying, “And you wanted to do that, didn’t you? Specially once you knew who I was. You wanted to be the one that knelt between my legs, swallowing me down slow and sweet, holding me inside you while I took you, my hands in your hair, telling you how good you are for Daddy, how proud he is of you... ”

Xander moaned against Spike’s cock, panting as he nodded eagerly. “Not supposed to ... I’m not—”

“But you _do_.” Tugging Xander away for a second, Spike unzipped and took himself out. “You _are_. Take me in, pet, see if I’m as good as that cocksucker said I was. There.” Xander’s lips were red and wet as they slid around the tip of Spike’s cock, his eyes practically rolling back into his head while lust and jasmine wreathed around them, cocooning them until Spike knew Xander wasn’t going to say no—he probably didn’t know how to, anymore. Not with the crap running through his system, and all those private wants that Spike was tapping in to. “More, pet, take more. Suck me down, just like Kevin does. He’s a _good_ cocksucker, isn’t he? Has he ever done you? I’d like to see that, pet. Like to see you splayed out on your back, Kevin between your legs while I slide deep into your throat, fucking your mouth slow and steady.”

Hot, frantic breaths gusted against Spike’s belly as Xander took more and more of Spike’s cock in his mouth. His entire body was trembling, hands wet and clammy as they rested on Spike’s thighs. He was unskilled, although he’d clearly done this at least once or twice before, mouth fumbling and wet as it slid over Spike’s cock and that just made it even better. _Gonna get to show you exactly what I want from you, pet. Gonna make you just perfect for me._

Gradually, Spike took more and more control over Xander’s movements, hands cupped around the back of Xander’s head, guiding him. “Good boy,” Spike told him as he eventually stilled Xander’s head, holding him steady as he fucked that open, willing mouth. “Such a good boy for Daddy. That’s right, pet, gonna give you a reward now. Do you want that?”

Black eyes, lost and glazed into emptiness, flicked up to Spike’s. Xander couldn’t nod—hell, he probably didn’t know _how_ to nod, even if he could figure out what Spike was actually asking him—but he moaned eagerly, sucking more fiercely.

Taking that for the yes it clearly was, Spike let his hips swing more freely, rolling himself into Xander’s mouth just a bit hard, just a touch faster, until Xander was choking at the bottom of every thrust, eyes watering as they continued to stare up at Spike, so _wanting_ —

Spike came deep in Xander’s mouth, moaning slightly when he felt the boy eagerly swallow every bit.

“Yeah,” Spike groaned, pulling his softened cock out and leaning against the wall. “This is exactly what you want, isn’t it?”

He could smell Xander’s come, feel the minute tremors of an orgasm so powerful it was close to knocking Xander right out. _Gotta remember to thank the magic users over at_ Gateway, Spike mused. _They know how to brew up a cocktail._

Xander was seconds from sleep, regardless of his awkward lean against Spike’s body or the clothes stained with his release. He did, however, rouse himself enough to say, “Yes, Daddy. It’s what I want.”

“Thought so. Up, pet. Strip off and then climb into bed with me.” Spike hovered over Xander the whole time, overseeing as Xander stumbled into the bedroom, stripping first himself and then Spike—automatically. Without Spike having to ask. Spike allowed the presumption, recognizing it as prior training he doubted Xander was even aware he’d been through, before making the room as sun-proof as he could. Spike was pleased that the room got more southern light then anything, which meant even if there were a few slivers of light, he’d be all right.

Both of them naked, Spike slid into bed, pleased when Xander immediately cuddled up close, head on Spike’s chest. “Is this okay, Daddy?”

 _Xander_ wasn’t home, but Spike was finding he liked this drugged version just fine. It was closest to the boy at the club he’d watched so enviously, and better, he was all Spike’s. “Yeah, pet. This is just fine. Sleep now, yeah? We’ll go over the rules tomorrow.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Xander said, words slurring into the slow, even breathing of sleep.


End file.
